My Bloody Lady
by Lord Onisyr
Summary: Madam Red steps over the line from a professional relationship with her butler and accomplice to something more physical. Grell Sutcliff, however, is a bit different from her usual conquest.


**My Bloody Lady**

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters are the property of Yana Toboso and Square Enix, Co. Ltd. I don't own them; I just examine all their possibilities.

Author's Note: This is my first Kuroshitsuji fic. While I tried to keep everyone in character please bear with me.

Contains sexual content and violence.

* * *

Slender, pale fingers combed through hair of the purest, flaming red followed by the coarse bristles of a brush. Somehow Grell was mesmerized by this sight; the lamp light would hit her in the right way to make those beautiful auburn locks and porcelain skin glow. The red would reflect off her skin in the right way to create that crimson sheen he had seen so many times that made him shiver every time.

Those fingers that would delicately brush gorgeous hair could deftly grip a scalpel and tear apart dirty flesh, hacking through viscera and organs with precision even in the heat of maddening rage. Every cut and spatter of blood would be a work of art. She could do her bloody work with passion and later be calm as could be brushing her hair before bed.

Grell couldn't help but recall the legend of Lady Bathory; a Hungarian noblewoman who would bathe in the blood of servant girls. She thought the blood gave her skin a youthful appearance.

No, Angelina wasn't as savage. Her cruelty was tempered with the decorum of a proper English lady. She was a sight that first time she killed; hair a mess, eyes wild. She calmed since then and molded into a perfectly cold killer. Grell wanted to take some credit for that, though she deserved applause for putting her useless emotions aside.

An eye peeked out from that gorgeous hair followed by a mischievous smirk. Grell moved back further against the wall feigning bashfulness.

"You were looking at me in a rather familiar way," she said.

"No, madam, I was merely looking in your direction," Grell said in the same sputtering, hesitant tone he took when they were out in public. "It was a look, that's all."

She snickered, he followed with a polite yet slightly lewd smirk. Madam Red turned to the mirror and continued brushing her hair. She then put the hairbrush on the vanity and picked up a bottle of rosewater, methodically spraying some over her neck and the part of her chest exposed by the plunging neckline of her nightgown. She then put the bottle on top of the vanity, but Grell saw the tiny push of a finger that sent the bottle flying against the wall.

The bottle smashed, sending pieces of glass to carpet with the contents splashing over the wall and pooling around the baseboard. Madam Red turned and looked back at Grell, whose jaw dropped ad he placed a hand to his chest.

"Oh dear," he said, aghast.

"Grell, clean up this mess," Madam Red said.

He could tell where this was going.

"Yes, madam," he said.

If he wanted to be a bastard, he could have left the room to fetch a broom and a dust pan to adequately kill the mood. No, playing along sounded like too much fun. He practically scurried over and bent down, not making any eye contact though he could see her leaning back in her chair from the corner of his eye.

Grell hurriedly picked up the pieces of glass in his gloved hand, reaching up and pulling the small wooden wastebasket closer to him. He could feel a nimble toe rubbing against his lower back. He looked over as if puzzled, only to see the bottom of her gown was hiked to her knees. She opened her legs in such a way to expose she was not wearing any bloomers under her nightgown. It was a cheeky move, he could only respect that.

He gave a squeak in response and immediately lowered his head to go back to his work. He carefully deposited the pieces, though his thumb subtly pushed against one piece still in his hand. A pointed end went through his glove and sent a polite sting into the tip of his forefinger. He yelped and dropped the pieces into the basket with a crash.

He could see her jump to a full sit in concern, but her posture quickly relaxed.

"Did you cut yourself?" she said. "Ooh poor dear, you better let me have a look at that."

"No, it's all right," Grell sputtered, pulling his glove off and putting pressure on his bleeding finger. "It was merely my clumsiness, nothing to trouble my lady over."

"Nonsense, let me see it," Angelina said.

Grell pivoted on his knees, facing her like a peasant facing a queen. He wondered if she would open her legs again and expect him to know what to do in this position, though they remained closed. He lifted his hand up, the wound was closing up though a thought made it gape a little wider and bleed a little more. He pushed his wrist upward so his bloody finger was right in her face. It would be interesting to see how she reacted to this.

She placed a careful finger on the side of his, intently examining the bleeding wound.

"It's just a little cut," Angelina said in a motherly, reassuring way.

She gazed at it for another second, hesitant almost. She then wrapped her lips around the tip of his finger, he could feel her tongue gently lapping at the wound. Grell smiled and leaned over, resting an elbow in her lap.

He felt her chest rise and fall with her breaths with her bosom closer to his face each time. He wasn't used to being this close to a woman's breasts. Hers were rounded, shapely assets. A part of him was mildly uncomfortable in this position, his ideal lovers had tight, muscled chests he could run his hands over. Another part was somewhat jealous; any woman would be of such shapely gifts.

Grell found himself basking in her warmth. It wasn't often he was this close to living, healthy beings. The warmth of her body, the rise and fall from her breath was a nice alternative to the cold corpses and death rattles he was around constantly.

A finger met his chin and lifted his gaze up to hers. She leaned down while pulling his chin up further, forcing him to straighten his back. A set of lush lips met his and he hardly protested. His tongue wandered out and pressed past her lips. The taste of his own blood made his trousers feel a little tighter. Both of her hands grabbed the sides of his head and pulled him up more.

"That was awfully familiar, madam," Grell said, adjusting his glasses.

Her fingers ran through his faux brown hair and caressed down the length of his ponytail in a rather suggestive way. A tug sent his long hair cascading down his back. She brought her hand up and showed him the red ribbon.

"Satiate my curiosity about one thing, Grell," Madam said, a hand now tugging at his tie.

"And what is that," Grell said.

She pulled the end ribbon, causing his bow to come undone.

"Is it possible for a reaper to love?" she said. "Can one who deals in death savor passion?"

Grell smiled, his pointed teeth now exposed. He leaned into Angelina's face, his lips rubbing against hers.

"I could ask the same of you," he said, pressing his lips against hers and putting a hand on her shoulder.

She said nothing else, only pulling off his tie. She then grabbed his lapels and practically ripped his jacket off. Fingers hastily undid the buttons of his waistcoat and his shoulder nearly twisted with the force of the garment's removal.

It looked like he touched a nerve, Grell didn't mind the results at all in fact he was even more intrigued. He momentarily broke the kiss to rub his lips over her jaw line. He felt a tongue run over his neck and teeth gently nipping.

"My lady," he whispered. "My beautiful, bloody lady. My little poisonous flower."

"Remember your place, butler," she practically hissed between kissing his neck.

He grinned wider before kissing the side of her face.

"Yes, madam," he said. "As you wish, madam."

She grabbed his shoulders and pushed him to a stand. Her lips locked on his, tongue forcing past and shoving into his mouth. Grell felt a few of his shirt buttons pop off before feeling the sleeves of his shirt forced off his arms. Well manicured nails raked down his chest, though with only enough force to create some pink marks.

His belt was soon off and fingers were already undoing the buttons of his trousers. He raised one foot behind him to undo the laces of his boots. One came off, then the other just in time for his trousers to be pulled down. A dainty hand wrapped around his ready extension, squeezing hard.

He saw her with many lovers; she would always conduct her affairs in the study or leave a crack open on her bedroom door. Angelina was aggressive from what he saw, reeling in young prospects as a charming lady and going at them like a tigress in heat. All her young targets, however, were human.

Grell threw his head back and let out a moan. She had such small, delicate hands; so nimble yet with the force of a vice grip. One hand pushed on his shoulder and sent him flying against the down comforter. Grell looked up to see Madam Red throw off her nightgown.

She was now leaning over him, fully exposed. The sight of a pair of large breasts hanging over him was somewhat jarring at first. It had been a very long time since he had been that close to such fleshy curves. The sight of a form of pure tone muscle standing over him with a hard, waiting spear would make him turn to jelly on the bed and give him ideas of all the ghastly things they could do. The inspiration was a little more difficult with those curves and a dewy flower bud in place of a stalk, though not impossible.

Both knees came to the bed around him. He looked over the length of her body, soon seeing the angry scar running across her midsection. It was clumsy and hastily made; the permanent reminder of her eternal torment. The mark that made her a killer; the scar that would put deep gashes into horrible women, steal from them what had been stolen from her and they were not worthy to have. They weren't worthy enough of having a scar, dead flesh didn't heal; it remained a gaping hole for all time.

The scar remained, but the psyche would never heal. That gaping wound would always remain if only in her mind. Helping her try to fill that provided him with endless entertainment.

A small bottle of oil was now in her hand, he didn't notice her pick it up from the drawer of the night stand. She rubbed the oil all over his manhood, kneading deeply. She then let go and put two fingers to herself to get ready. The oil was hastily capped and put on the nightstand and she lowered herself onto him.

Those beautiful, delicate hands gripped his shoulders as she gyrated all around him. Warmth surrounded him and grew with every slinky movement. Grell grabbed her wrists but remained relaxed. One dainty hand found its way to his hair, caressing it. The brown faded with every touch, her widening eyes gave away some amount of surprise. By now the charm has faded and the hair beneath her fingers was a rich red.

Her hand then moved to his glasses. He allowed her to get a grip on one arm before he slapped her hand away. He then leaned his face to the side and kissed her hand as if to make up for his rudeness. His tongue then wandered out, then his teeth found soft flesh and gently bit.

He tasted blood, but she made no indication of shock or surprise. He nibbled a few more times, making sure he pierced the skin. Angelina then moved her hand away, rubbing blood down his chest. The warm slickness made his hips rise and he heard a louder sigh in response. He tightened his abdominal muscles and matched the rhythm of her thrusts. His hands wandered from her wrists to her body, running over her breasts with fingers lightly drumming over her nipples. The pink buds hardened and she thrust harder.

Grell slowly came to a sit, wrapping is arms around her and lapping her nipples. His tongue wandered further down and his teeth found a fleshy spot on her breast. He nibbled lightly, soon tasting blood and hearing her yelp. She shoved his shoulders back and gave him a pointed look like she was punishing a puppy. Grell responded by raking his nails down her back.

He raked harder, almost clawing and feeling a thick slick over his fingers. Angelina leaned down and kissed him, catching his lip in her teeth and biting hard. Grell tasted blood and felt her salty tongue lap into the wound.

Fingernails raked hard down his chest; the sting was exquisite. He arched his back and grabbed her hips, driving deeper. The fingernails made a wild pass, then another like a cat at a scratching post. Angelina's hands then caressed down his chest, Grell looked down to see trickles of blood become a long smear. A thought made the blood a bit thicker, now coating his chest. She removed her hand and lapped it. He grabbed her wrist and took his own taste. His back arched further and she wrapped her lips around his. His own muscles tightened and her thrusts increased.

She was panting like a dog, that beautiful red hair coated in sweat and flying around wildly. She was an animal; vicious, instinctual, wanting nothing more than pleasure. He lapped up her face, letting out a few hard sighs as the wave grew. His fingers then caressed down her chest, coming to a rest around that scar and feeling the hardened, jagged marks. He thrust upward, her moans in his ear and body growing weak as she tightened sharply.

"My lady," he gasped. "My beautiful, ferocious lady."

His words melted into a scream with the release. He thrust up further for good measure; she would experience every ounce of him. Hands practically threw him down to the bed, though she did not move from her position.

Angelina looked down at him with a smile, he responded with a wide grin.

She moved off him, only to flop on his chest panting. Grell's fingers moved through her hair; that gorgeous red hair. The fiery locks of a fiery woman, the embodiment of her passion and rage.

"My lady," he whispered, kissing the side of her face.

"Yes, your lady," she whispered back.

Grell wanted to make a snaky comment in response but only smiled.


End file.
